Tainted
by papaya-san
Summary: Under construction.


Caution. This may be Tainted 2.0, but it still needs to be edited. Tainted Chapter 1 Rewrite 3 is coming along quite nicely and should be updated whenever (if I get enough reviews, I may consider posting it early). Just keep in mind that the version you are about to read is going to suck. Hard.

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><p><span>Tainted<span>

By: Maya 'papaya' Jimenez

Summary: Everyone has problems. Mikan Sakura Yukihara, a girl with an insane father who believes her to be his wife; thus, he subjects her to sexual abuse. Natsume Hyuuga, a boy beaten and treated as a slave by his father and new family; their reason links to the death of his mother and his younger sister. Hotaru Imai, a girl harshly bullied by many of her peers; with no paternal help from her parents or older brother, she has no one at home to confide in. Ruka Nogi, a boy hurting from his parents' divorcing; the only way he could release that pain was to cut himself. Four teenagers in the modern society where adults rule, they only want to run away and abandon their problems. Each with scars and wounds still bleeding, each with a unique story; life is hard, and then they meet each other.

Chapter 1: Confessions

Mikan Sakura Yukihara: Impasse

I locked the door as quick as I heard the staggered steps of my father reigning up the stairs. I knew it was him based on the signature drag of his arms against the walls. He was drunk, disoriented, and frightening. No matter how much I'd tried, I couldn't see him as the dad I once knew. Forever, he'd be known as Father; nothing more, nothing less. I sighed at the thought. If only my mother was here to see this madness. My hopes were in vain, as she'd never be here to see the day, nor the night, for that matter; she'd died two years ago of a weak heart.

I know I shouldn't blame her, but I couldn't help to. After all, if she hadn't died, this life of mine never would have been lived. I'd be your average, happy-go-lucky teenager who'd only worry about pimples and boys. My luck obviously had run out. Father was blinded by his love for my mother when she'd left for the heavens. He'd only remembered her face, her name, and that cheerful attitude he had loved so passionately. He'd forgotten me. I was simply a figment of his imagination; in his mind, my mother was still alive. In his mind, I was her.

His steps grew louder as he neared my room. I pushed my desk chair up to the door, in caution of preventing anyone from entering. I hoped he was drunk enough to pass out any time now; as long as it was before he threw my door off of its hinges and barged in. Of course, no such luck existed for me. The door was a mere heap of large splinters and chunks of broken wood by the time I realized that I needed another desk chair.

He looked me over and gave a crooked smile, "H-hey, Ba-by," he slurred.

Shaking, I backed into the room; my judgment on whether or not that was even a good idea was clouded, so I had to make do with whatever sliver of thought I had managed to get through my thick skull. All I heard in my head was the simple, but fearfully effective word. _Run_. I tried to do so, and I'd only managed to find myself locked into my bathroom. He was banging on the door, trying to get me to open up. That'd never happen, not if he has that glazed look in his brown eyes, that look that held a touch of lust and insanity.

"Y-Yuka; it's me, y-your husband!" I grew angry at the way he'd addressed me, but it's actually pretty funny how sure he sounded. My name was most certainly not _Yuka_, and I was not his wife, nor he my husband. That was my mother's name. However, even if he'd gotten my name wrong, I dared not answer nor open the door. It wasn't just, never fair. Never honest, or ever true, this life of mine.

I hugged my knees to my chest as he continued with his banging on the bathroom door. I wished to rest freely, without troubles weighing on my chest, or worry and fear, or sadness, or, or without Father banging on the bathroom door. Of course, a wish is never granted that generously. There is always a price. Stifling a cry of a dreadful angst, I rubbed my hands over my arms, already feeling the goose bumps that pricked my flesh ever delicately.

I almost smiled with relief when the knocks came to a halt. I waited a good half hour to make sure he had long gone to his own respectable room, or had been knocked out next to the door, at the very least. The former is more appealing than the latter. Actually, I don't really care, just as long as he leaves. Slowly, I cracked the door open to find that he was gone. Cheers. I tiptoed to my own bed and gave a lengthy gaze to the shattered door. I pushed the hinges back into place and gently, silently, put all the pieces of wood in a large trash bag. I made a mental note to take the trash out to the front for the garbage men to pick up.

There wasn't anything I could do for the door, but I needed at least an hour's worth of sleep in order to make it through the day. Then again, did it really matter? He'd be gone to work in the morning; I wouldn't see him until seven in the evening, not that I even wanted to see that demented face of his. I took another look to the rectangular hole that stood in the place where the door used to be before pulling the white comforter over my head. In the end, though, I didn't sleep.

I dressed as quickly as possible, careful to keep silent in case he decided to stop by again. Gathering my backpack, I grabbed the trash bag near the nonexistent door and slipped my shoes on. My house was large and on the nicer side of the city; Harbor Avenue, _Yukihara_ District. My father, not only did he change from Dad to Father after my mother died, but he became an instantaneous workaholic. He started a business chain in which he controlled several malls and outlets in America, Brazil, Japan, and parts of Europe. That meant that a lot of money came in.

We didn't have maids, cooks, or butlers because it's obvious what would happen if someone found out that a big-shot like him sexually abused his own daughter. However, we did have a chauffeur. In a way, he thought things through.

On the kitchen counter were credit cards to my name, several hundred dollar bills, and a note from Father.

_For you, my sweet Yuka. _

And a heart was drawn in permanent marker in the corner.

I took out my wallet and shoved the bills in, as for the credit card, I slid it into the ID holder. I threw the note away and headed for the front door. Outside was a sleek, black limousine with tinted windows. The chauffeur opened the car door for me, his white gloves effortlessly gliding over the handle as though he'd been doing this single job for his entire life. I smiled at him and sat daintily on the plush, leather seats. The ride was short and smooth, of course.

I took a wary step onto campus. I've never liked school enough to see it as my safe haven. My grades were honor roll status, though. It's more like I've been afraid of it all, the teachers, the students, basically the school in general. It's unnerving for me, is all, but I'd always considered myself a patient person, well, at least more than others. I wore the uniform well, without lazy wrinkle or reckless stain. This mask of mine has yet to slip and break. Let us hope that isn't anytime soon.

Drowning in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed that my self-proclaimed friend, Luna Koizumi, had already yanked at my arm in attempt to gain my attention, "Hey, are you even listening to me?" I knew for a fact that she only became friends with me to become and stay popular, not to sound narcissistic on my part, but she makes it so obvious.

I give a nod as I picked up a fraud smile, making it wide and believable. I mean, I'm known for my cheerfulness and smiles, but they're only things I hand out to please others. I probably wouldn't even smile if I hadn't had the need to. After all, it's just another lie.

"Yeah, so, anyways, today, like after school, we need to, like, go to the mall; I really _need_ to buy this summer dress I, like, saw at that boutique; you know, like, the one with all the pink flowers." She's pretty irritating, with her high-pitched voice and abusive use of the word, 'like'.

Luna has always been only slightly taller than me with or without the stilettos she always insists on wearing, but whenever she stood next to me, there always appeared to be at decent five inches difference. She owned a pair of mischievous bronze eyes, in contrast to my azure pair. Her hair was grown just below her shoulder blades and was a rare strawberry-blond; it looked as if she'd dyed it orange-y pink, but that's not true, because everyone at this school knows she's had the same hair since she was in preschool. She loved to go out tanning in the summertime, and, as her hobby suggests, her skin was toned, never leathery, with smooth youth. She always seemed to be kissed by the sun.

And yet, it wasn't her appearance that had constantly annoyed me; it was her attitude, her style and her looseness. Just as she loved to go tanning, she loved to flirt. It was scary how many guys she'd go through in a week. With that alone, she had a huge set of admirers as well as haters.

Despite her being annoying, I put up another fake smile to show my supposed agreeing with her; which, for the record, isn't something I'd actually want to do. Apparently, it worked, because she grinned back and continued with her babbling, or rather, gossiping. It had only taken a few short minutes to get from the courtyard to the classroom, so, I was once again subjected to being lost in my thoughts. Not that it even mattered.

Most of the students were already seated and were chatting comfortably with their friends. Luna and I were surrounded by fans the second we stepped into the room. We call them fans because they act as though we're just that great, like superstars, untouchable, as they never went close enough to tear us apart. I almost snorted when a group had asked for autographs. I mean, really; we're not or actresses; it seems everything's based on looks and money. Nevertheless, Luna grabbed the notebook extended in front of her and signed it in her curly signature, hearts and loop-de-loops present, whilst I continued smiling, my cheeks numb. She looked over her shoulder and waved at me, gesturing for me to follow her to the back row of empty desks.

The horde of fans subsided as the homeroom teacher, Mr. Anju, clapped his hands together, all in order to get the attention of his students. He was dressed in another of his more _intriguing_ outfits; I mean, considering he wore a pirate costume, authentic and such, intriguing is a good word. We sat down obediently, albeit some hid their cell phones under their desks to continue talking to their friends.

"Class, as some of you have heard, today there is a new student." A murmur arose.

As though on cue, the door cracked open. A boy steadily walked ahead and stood near the teacher, not speaking all the while. I took my time to examine him thoroughly. He had a mop of hair so dark and glossy it reminded me of the feathers of a raven. His skin was strangely pale with a sickly tinge to it, but, regardless, had an average complexion to it. He was tall for a junior, probably around six or so feet. He had worn the school's winter uniform set, despite it already being spring, complete with the long sleeved blazer and slacks. I couldn't help but notice how gaunt he appeared to be. He may have been tall, but he was quite lanky, so the combination was confusing based on his looks.

Although his appearance was eccentric, his aura overpowered any other in the room. He couldn't even be described as normal; he was far more superior and could be described as godly. With fine, fairly sharp features and a straight nose, I would say he was similar to a Greek god or even a Roman god. His muscles were lean and thin, but still visible. He owned a pair of secretive maroon eyes that were such deep rouge you could get lost in them. I almost presumed that it was fraud, like with contacts, but it just seemed too real. They'd reminded me somewhat of roses or lush velvet.

At the moment, he was staring impassively at the rest of the class. Mr. Anju raises an eyebrow to the boy, as if expecting him to introduce himself, or something of the sorts. When the boy doesn't, he sighed, as if only a little exasperated.

He turns back to us, "This is Natsume Hyuuga," he looks over the desks, "Ah, you could sit next to Ruka; Ruka, raise your hand."

Near to where I had resided with Luna, a hand slowly raised. Ruka Nogi was a cute French boy, probably ranking high on the popularity charts. He seldom spoke and was very kind to others. He had white-blond hair and soft blue eyes. He was around the new kid's height with a paper-like, pale skin tone; he'd just about looked anemic. What I hadn't known earlier was that Ruka was wearing the winter uniform just like the new kid. It seems as though all men are sensitive with cold weather. I frowned at the thought; it was simply too suspicious to ignore. It's not like it's a fad or anything, and it isn't even that cold.

As if to break my thoughts, the bell had rung, loud as always, possibly louder. Mr. Anju left at the drop of a hat, abandoning the class for whatever nonsense we'd decide to do; Alice Academy is just just loose that way. And, to seal the deal, a crowd had formed around the new kid. It simply amazed me, then. It was strange and refreshing to see that this new kid was instantly popular. I'm pretty sure that it was his strong aura that lured them in. I mean, he was a typical head-turner, but if you add the aura, he becomes invincible and model-status.

I'd thought that he'd instantly warm up to the people, unlike his aloofness from earlier. I was terribly wrong, completely off mark. Instead of smiling and junk, he'd simply stared. It was then that I'd shown a bit of, just a small widening of the eyes, my surprise. But, before I could classify him as a Goth or a loner, a few of the people I hang out with, the 'popular' clique, walked up to him.

A boy stepped up first, "Hey; Natsume, right? Anyways, hang with us at lunch; you come, too, Ruka." It was short, simple, and endearingly impressive. However, I could practically see the irradiance radiating off of him. In the end, though, he shrugged to his seatmate and slept through class.

My cell phone vibrated in my backpack, sending waves of disruption throughout the class. I felt unwanted attention gnawing at my back, though I didn't pay mind to it. Someone had either texted me or called, and neither of the two happened on a daily basis. Being a curious human, I flipped it open. And only to find a message from Luna.

I groaned. I never really liked the idea of texting. I mean, it overexerted my thumbs to the point where they became numb for long periods of time.

My phone vibrated again.

_Mikan. Ditching class till lunch. Coming? _

Sighing, I packed my backpack and left for the school's front gate. Of course, Luna, some people from the clique, and a select few who wanted to become popular by association were there, waiting for me.

"Hey. What took you so long?" asked a tag-along.

I shrugged, "New student apparitions."

Luna nodded, "He's hot."

And almost immediately, the crowd perked up with several questions varied from whether or not he wore boxers or briefs to what size his foot was. Not to mention some weird girl asking what his favorite color was. I mean, who asks a question like that? Obviously that strange girl in the back.

We mostly window-shopped at some random shoe stores, but we ended up heading back to the school for lunch. After all, most of the popular clique's members have uptight parents who expect their children to be perfect little puppets.

I hadn't felt the urge to eat in a while, today was no exception. I'd always only eaten if someone else treated me or out of respect and politeness. Our lunch 'table' was a patch of grass under an oak tree in the quad area. We'd made it act as a table because it was where the 'popular' people ate lunch and randomly skipped classes or hung out. Mostly the 'hung out' part, because none of the girls ate and the boys only chewed gum and drank Gatorade. I think the girls drank water. Sometimes.

I'd sat down right next to Luna, not bothering to join in whatever gossipy conversation they'd decided to rile up. Luna always participates in things like that; I don't know why. She'd always just liked the spotlight. I'm pretty sure she was drinking water from a little, classy water bottle; she wasn't slurping or spitting anything, so she came off as the 'cutest little thing' to the guys in the clique, probably because she actually eats sometimes. The boys, all of which had more or less a past relationship with her, smiled or waved in my direction as some form of recognition. But how do I know about Luna's relationships? Easy; it's because she brags all the time. It used to be annoying, but I've generally gotten used to it.

Luna grinned and continued to talk her nonsense, something about another girl, a slut, to be precise. I could almost laugh; after all, wasn't she the slutty one? I think so, but whatever; Ruka and the new kid were here and currently, Luna was clinging to the latter's arm. For a second, I felt bad for him; it seems, Luna had set her sight on him, and we all know what happens when she sets her sight on a guy. Sexy females with an overwhelming dominance and lustful males weak against the power of alluring women are not all that great a combination.

Hotaru Imai: Coerce

They looked down to me. I'd just been pushed to the ground. I felt the overwhelming urge to cry. I wondered where all my strength had gone. For it to just vanish in my time of need was simply betraying. I lacked in control over my emotions, and, with all this, this pressure piling onto me, I felt so weak. They called me whore today.

Must no one try to find the truth of it all? Must I forever be the campus slut, when, in truth, I've never even kissed a guy? Never have I nurtured a relationship so close to the idea of physical attraction. Never.

My tears shouldn't be wasted upon this cruelty. My mind is brought back to reality. The jeers, the laughter, shake me as I scramble to gather my textbooks and papers. I bite back the tears threatening to fall and stand, pouring my heart into maintaining whatever dignity I had left. I kept my head bowed low until I heard the clicking of high stilettos finally fading.

My tormenters were most of the people in my grade. The rest of the people that didn't look down on me or know about me were so popular that merely knowing someone like me was a down in reputation, thus, the phrase, ignorance is bliss, is applied. The others just never met me or are new.

This all started with a misunderstanding, one day in the past. I have the irregular type period, so my dot lasts for long dates of time. I'd take these birth-control pills so that I wouldn't die from lack of blood.

It was that time of the month. I'd brought the pills with me to school; I had to take one every three hours. It was during class that I'd gotten permission to use the restroom. I took a pad and a tampon with me, but left the pills by complete accident. And when I returned under my forgetfulness, the teacher was gone and everyone was crowded around my desk.

Upon curiosity, I'd pushed my way through only to come face to face with a classmate of mine holding up the bottle of birth-control pills.

"_Slut." _

Now, here, unable to enter a classroom or anywhere in campus, for that matter, without hearing the mismatched whispering of rumors, and all of them about myself and my supposed 'smuttiness'. And yet, the truth of it all remains that I am still innocent. A pure virgin, never speaking profanities, never subjecting myself to a single illicit ardor, was I. Yes, how, how _famous_ am I.

Will I forever be labeled as impure? Avoided as I am, anyone I come in contact with is told to be 'infected' since that abysmal day.

I took out my phone and looked to the screen. On in was a picture of me and my older brother, when we were both younger. I was seven and he was fifteen, so now, he was twenty-five. I gave a hefty sigh, allowing myself the gift of reminiscence. He'd studied at Princeton and got a top medical doctorate, therefore establishing himself as a genius prodigy. He's been working in a hospital in Australia, and I haven't seen him in ages.

He's just as renowned as my parents. He lived up to their high expectations. My mother is a professional model for Vogue and has been said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. I always paled in comparison. While her hair was a long, wavy, enchanting jet-black, mine was a strict black, chopped to a pixie cut and short like a boy's. Her eyes distinguished the family's glorious, blazing amber, but somehow, the gene was lost in me; mine were a sad indigo. I hated them for being so, so freakish. They came with a nickname, too. _Eggplant kid_.

My father was just as great as my mother. He owns a thriving corporation that produces and sells indie inventions for the betterment of mankind. Sometimes, he asks for my input on some of the designs; and other times, he actually uses my ideas. It's nice to feel a part of it all, and I told him so. He told me that I'd be inheriting the company when he gets too old, but I can't help but wonder.

I bit my lip as the bell rang, signaling the next class. Throwing the cell phone into my backpack, I ran to science class, hoping not to be late and hitch the attention of my peers as I walk in.

It's better to fade.

Natsume Hyuuga: Verity

I closed my eyes and gave myself the luxury of secret anger. Three more hits. I covered my head and face with trembling hands, seething, all the more forcing my weak self to remain still and take the hits like a man should. Another kick to my side. I stop shaking with a newfound conviction. I refused to be stripped of my dignity. I tried catching the foot that ills me. I tried yelling, thrashing around. Another strike to my stomach. And then everything stops. I open my eyes to find him gone.

I blinked and watched as another hour of my life was taken. Stolen like a good, only underdone and unsettled. I closed my eyes as I slowly dressed myself in my new school's uniform, careful to conceal every little bruise and raw cut. And to think that _he_ just sits and watches everything and still has the brashness to call his self my _father_.

He never lifts a finger. The entire time, he sits back and smiles, as though he were only watching television and this was his favorite show. He doesn't lift a finger, only instruct his _sons_ to do his filthy work. Does he enjoy my pain, my cries of agony? Is my begging mercy not enough to please him? What more can he do?

I've been disowned. He'd remarried another woman. A cruel, disgusting woman who seems to find the same joy in hitting me as my father and her sons do.

I glanced in a shard of broken mirror, meant to be thrown out eons ago, but kept for my use. I saw a sad boy, dreaming of the past, living in those very dreams, wishing to go back and actually enjoy them all again. I was skinny and pale as sheet without even trying. I'd grown tall enough to hit my head on the small, dented bunk-bed I'd salvaged from a past junkyard; and all so that I could sleep without nightmares. My arms were discolored, as were my legs and stomach. My chest, too. My body was a mere collection of malnourishment and beatings' result.

I stared at my dark hair. They reminded me of the crows' glossy feathers that nested at my sister's grave. The thought rolled around my mind, reeling and reminding me just why she was even in a casket in the first place.

A grimace and a scowl conspired and worked to my face. I also knew just why my real mother's there in that same family grave plot. I wondered when I'd join them. To be a part of them, once again. I hoped the day would come soon. I hoped, even, maybe today. Then again, that'd be a miracle on my part. I almost felt bad for my father and his new family; as, when I die, they'd be left with no one to torment.

It was them, with that statement being said; they were the ones who'd caused my distress, my pain. These bruises didn't appear from me falling down the stairs, or something stupid like that. They inflicted it. With a fist, a strong knee, and any other blunt object found in this tiny shack of a house.

I remembered the days where I lived in a reserved richness. I remember my mother being a good, tough lawyer. Good, as though to provide millions of dollars for herself and her family. She was kind, despite it all, though. She never raised a harming hand; only a warm one, for shaking hands and pulling people into hugs.

I gave a solemn laugh to the thought. I knew where those millions went after their death. Of course. To my crazed father and his new family.

And now, look where that's gotten him; a shack and three kids under a roof with several useless pairs of designer jeans and makeup for his second wife. She'd drained the money like one of those dieting shakes she always drinks.

I remembered my old home. Warm and welcoming, it was nicer than any of the _homes_ I've ever been in. You see, they'd bought three houses on the beach after getting the money and a decent four other hilltop houses. We'd lived in all of them. As it turns out, they hadn't planned out anything, like how the hell they were even going to pay off the piling debt. They'd also bought a nice convertible, but it was repossessed when they couldn't come up with the money needed to pay its bill. Then, here we are, living in an old house, shack.

She wasn't the only one who'd spent the money recklessly. She also gave a million each to her two sons, Reo and Shido. Reo was the smarter of the two, though he also received the better looks. Shido was aggressive and had a fantastic right hook; thus he openly pursued his lifelong dream to become a professional boxer for UFC. That meant I was his opponent, though I'd learned over the years to not fight back, to be passive. Reo, rather than watching like his father, my father, acted as Shido's coach, telling him where it hurts on my end. It only resulted in an illicitly won, one-sided brawl. He wins, of course. Always.

I bore holes into the mirror as I came across my eyes. A light red with flecks of yellow, almost dark enough to be told to be golden. I smiled to the thought. A soft, nearly unnoticeable smile, but still existent.

I told myself to hurry before they awaken and obstruct me from leaving. I didn't own textbooks or supplies, or even a backpack for that matter, so I'd gone without. I walked to my new school, as we'd only recently moved back to her old shack-house; over the summer, I suppose. The sun was, for the most part, hidden behind unwavering clouds, but it didn't rain.

The school was a private, prestigious academy; I'm only here on scholarship as my aunt would rather attend a good parenting class than pay for my tuition. There were hardly any other students on scholarship; just about all of them were naturally rich because of their own parents. I'd recognized several of them to be politician's children or even celebrity's kin. I felt like a black sheep among the _purest_ of lambs.

I was probably going to be late for class, so I decided to hurry to the office and get my schedule and map of the campus before homeroom started.

I'd walked in a daze for the most part and barely noticed the office ladies' calculating glances. My schedule was simple, really. First period was free study, second was language arts. Third was math and fourth, science. Then there was history and PE after lunch. I groaned at the thought of physical education. Surely it's understandable that someone like me would want to skip at least one period of the day involving actual movement and activity. I'll end up ditching under these circumstances.

I was standing face to face with my homeroom teacher in no time at all. His name was Mr. Anju. Narumi Anju. A feminine name. And he was also my language arts teacher along with being my homeroom teacher. He dressed in an incredible manner, wearing a pirate suit and a feathered hat along with leather boots. Apparently, the students in the class were used to it to the point where the man looked normal in their eyes. Simply amazing, being with someone so long that the crazed habits of theirs start seeming normal.

He introduced me, though I couldn't bring myself to even look at the other students. Their eyes seemed to stare right through me, but it must've been my paranoia.

Mr. Anju spoke through my thoughts, "This is Natsume Hyuuga," he pauses, "Ah, you could sit next to Ruka; Ruka, raise your hand."

A hand in the back rose, signaling where my desk was. It took a moment for me to process that I needed to get over there. It wasn't slow thinking, but rather poor eyesight. I've been punched in the eye one too many times. And I don't exactly have kind, doting parents who'd buy me a pair of glasses. Just the opposite, actually.

My seatmate, Ruka, shook my hand politely before I sat, and for a moment, I believed everything to be peaceful.

The bell rung. Mr. Anju left and several people crowded me and Ruka.

I stood silently, avoiding questions tossed in the air violently. Was life a fairytale for these people? Didn't they see the cold reality that lay behind their crystal windows and golden panes? Will they ever see the truth that lay behind the lies spun and woven to protect their gated and protected, rich lives? Will they ever understand? Comprehend the pain? Ever?

"Are you single?" I twitched upon hearing the question and stared at the smirking brunette that cupped and pushed up her already abnormally large breasts. Obviously, they weren't sensitive to my discomfort.

_Whore_.

I shook my head and walked out the door.

The bell rung soon after. Class would be starting, but I decided that I didn't feel like attending class with students like that. I walked along the pavement, exiting the school and entering the city. It wasn't that loud, considering most people were either at home, sleeping, or at work, working their heads off to provide for the family. I nodded to myself and hid my tie in my back pocket, disguising my high school student status to the outside world.

I came upon a convenience store, but told myself that I shouldn't be wasting my money. And yet, I was tempted. I bought a sub sandwich and a water bottle. Of course, I was ashamed at my easy succumb. I took a swig of water and walked back on campus, undetected.

I found a nice, shady tree in the back lot and climb a few branches before settling down. I rubbed my arms, still aching, and mentally gave myself a tirade on climbing a tree in my _terrible_ condition. I scoffed. Understatement, much?

I bit the sandwich hungrily, not exactly savoring the raw taste of it all. The dry feel of the turkey, the wet lettuce. The combination ranch laced with tomatoes.

I was simply reading the wrapper when the bell rung, yet again. I laid back on the branch, swaying ever slightly in the wind.

A sense of peace overcame me. I hummed an unknown melody. I whistled for a moment. I took another dink of water and looked at the leaves, gently falling, wavering, and some even whistling alongside me. I looked between the cracks in the branches, the soft sun blinding me temporarily. I gave a wary glance at the clouds, suddenly envious of their carefree disposition.

And the bell rings again.

Time passed quickly, but I didn't leave the tree for lunch. School was primarily over by the time I realized that I had skipped my first day of school. I gave myself a lonely smirk and finished the contents of my water bottle. Slowly, ever slowly, I hung myself over the edge of the branch, watching to make sure that I wouldn't land on anything.

But something caught my attention.

Ruka Nogi, my seatmate, walked towards the tree, determination etched into his eyes.

Ruka Nogi: Obsession

My eyes were wide with worry. I could feel someone staring at me. My science teacher, Ms. Yamada.

"Ruka, please answer the question."

Her voice was uncaring. All eyes were trained on me. I wondered if they were looking hard enough to see through my blazer. I laughed in my mind. I laughed, cursing them all.

_Stop staring_!

I could feel my book bag press lightly on my leg, and instantly, I felt comforted. I started to realize that barely half the class was even present at today's lesson. And less than that half of students cared about me. A quarter of the students returned their stares to the teachers.

_Goody-two-shoes_.

"Ruka, the answer–"

But I cut her off, "I don't know."

She sighed.

I rubbed my arms, irritating the little cuts on the outer edges. Those disgusting, little cuts, inflicted so easily. Concealed with such ease. How could they not see? The little cuts. The thin edge of maroon. The faint marks of blood.

_They don't care_.

I seethed through my teeth, but immediately regretting it as the teacher looked back sharply.

"Would you like to add anything?"

I gritted my teeth and shook my head, "Can I go to the restroom?"

She glared for a moment, but gave a curt nod, dismissing me.

I scooped my bag up and flew out the door, not missing a beat.

_Fuck them all_!

I could feel the sting of the air, the prick of the fabric, on my skin. It hurt in an irritating paper cut kind of way, but it satisfied me. Temporarily. I stopped at the quad, at a tree in the back. I knew it well. The curve of the branches, the jagged edge of the bark. It was a beautiful willow tree, with long branches and leaves that concealed just about anything.

You'd think that this be a place for a lover's meeting, an _affair_ or something of the sort.

I stopped for a moment, realizing that I've thought about a taboo subject. I could feel my face paling, a familiar, overwhelming coldness that brought me to my knees; my bag slumped on my side, making me acutely aware of my exposure. I didn't care, though. I was weary of everything in my life. I wanted to go home.

_No, not that house with my parents_.

A _real_ home.

All the money, paintings, and jewels in the world couldn't make that mansion my home. Not after what I've seen. I've heard. I've felt.

_No_! _Not here_!

My body protested my actions, quivered at the cold touch of my letter opener, trembled at the sight of dried blood on the smooth, metallic edge. It cuts through skin as easily as it does with paper.

I shushed my movements, rocking slightly in the wind, feeling crazed. I told myself that I shouldn't _cut_ at school.

And yet, in the end. I lost the battle I tried so hard to win. My sleeve was barely rolled up an inch. The blade of the letter opener pressed lightly against my wrist, but no skin was broken. My sleeve slid down ever slightly, exposing the cuts I've done my best to hide on a daily basis. Each scar held a story behind it.

My mind was a jumbled mess of words.

_I love you_.

_I'll never leave you_.

_Liar_.

_I hate you_!

I felt my hand drop the blade, my fingers gingerly making their way to my ears. I felt the scratchy need in the back of my throat to scream out in frustration.

_Mother, Father_! _Just stop_!

And yet, another of their fights replayed in my head, over and over again. A broken record.

_Fuck this shit_!

The blade silenced their yells of anger. Their profanities and hatred. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. Serene. So, so pure.

The blood stained the saintly dirt of the willow tree. It got on my blazer, my white polo shirt.

And I heard a gasp from above.

The letter opener dropped again as I looked up, meeting the eyes of my new seatmate, Natsume.

I knew he saw me, and I expected the worst, but I could see confusion in his eyes, rather than disgust or fear. And I was almost fooled into thinking he gave a shit.

"Tell me," he spoke after a long pause, his voice barely an octave to a whisper; he held the crook of his elbow in his hands, "why?"

I didn't reply. I wanted to deny everything, but he saw. He _fucking_ saw! He was witness to my secret sadomasochism. I was angry at everything. Angry that I was so exposed. Angry that he had seen me. Angry at myself for not being careful enough.

_Fuck_!

He repeated, impatient, "Why do you do that to yourself?!"

I yelled out, my temper suddenly flaring, "Because it hurts! It makes their voices _fucking_ silent!"

He snorted, "So you think that _that_ pain will help silence _emotions_?" he hopped down from the tree branch he was perched on, "You know nothing about _fucking_ emotions!"

I could hear the other students chattering on in the distance, none close enough to hear our argument.

I stepped forward, seeing as we were about the same height, "What makes you so smart?"

He stopped and loosened his stance; his eyes were defiant, "This."

His jacket dropped to the ground and he ripped his sleeves up. I swallowed, taking in the nasty collection of scars and bruises. When I grew used to it, I made a game of counting and separating the green bruises from the purple ones.

He shoved his jacket back on and glared at me, "You're an idiot."

I returned the glare with the same audacity and fierceness, "You're inconsiderate."

He crossed his arms and growled an apology, "Sorry," he was whispering again, like he made a point of blending his voice with fucking wind.

I sat by his feet, quietly rubbing the dried blood of the letter opener on my pant leg. He sat soon after, seeing nothing else to do.

He snatched the blade from me and sighed out, "This," he pricked his finger, hardly offering a wince. He didn't bother with finishing his sentence, and I was bothered by it. Maybe it was because we both knew what he was going to say. We both knew that he was right, too.

I shook my head, taking it back and tucking it into my book bag, "That's okay. No one else does."

He stared at me and shook his head, "But in a way, I do."

I shrugged. My eyes were closed and I felt a sense of comfort just sitting, the willow trunk against my back.

Natsume settled, too, "We're alike. A little."

I rolled my eyes, "Whatever."

* * *

><p>Review if you want more.<p> 


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